


don't wanna (let go)

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 22:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15277842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: The first time it happens, Yang brushes it off as a mistake, wires crossed in a moment of confusion.a story of how yang wenli is perpetually confused af and frederica is the perfect voice of reason.





	don't wanna (let go)

**Author's Note:**

> my first true non-reuyang! pls celebrate with me!!
> 
> schonkopf/yang was a pairing that i fell into because of how RARE my otp is and i really also adore schonkopf & yang so it works out (sometimes) !!!!
> 
> but this fic started brewing in my mind after episode 6, that scene where yang makes a comment about how 'schonkopf's imperial language wouldn't be a problem then' or something. that's literally the first acknowledgment that i've personally seen that the empire and the fpa don't actually share a standard language :0 but anyway. that's a discussion for another day. 
> 
> i wrote about 4k over a three day period for this last month, but it's been languishing on my google docs since. 
> 
> since i hurt chris (:3 ??) by shafting schonkopf in my last fic, i thought i'd drag this out and present it before i go back and do some more shafting ♥ everyone deserves a bit of yang wenli love haha~

*

The first time it happens, Yang brushes it off as a mistake, wires crossed in a moment of confusion.

He’s sitting in his office staring at the mess of files scattered across his desk with a frown. He’s been away from Iserlohn for a good month and had been further delayed by the official ceremony that Caselnes had insisted upon.

“It’s good for morale,” his senior had said when he had shoved the dress whites at Yang’s face, barely half an hour after Yang had disembarked from the shuttle and set foot back on solid land.

Yang sighs, pulling off his beret, a glaring white to match the dress uniform, and swings it a few times on his finger as he skims a few of the papers on the very top of the pile. He sighs again, louder, dropping his hat to the side and flips open another folder labeled ‘confidential’, he honestly has no idea if anything is urgent at this point.

There’s a perfunctory knock on his door. Yang looks up in time to see Schonkopf push it open and enter.

“Admiral,” Schonkopf says, stopping exactly four steps in and clicking his heels together, saluting sharply.

Yang, relieved to have a legitimate reason to put aside his work, stands hurriedly, stepping around his desk and returns the salute briefly with one of his own. “Captain.”

Schonkopf’s eyes widen a little, taking in the sight of Yang in his full dress uniform for the first time and he tilts his head slightly to the side. He scans Yang up and down a couple of times, a tiny smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

“The uniform suits you, your Excellency,” he says and the smirk grows. “It’s unfortunate that you don’t have the opportunity to wear it more often.”

Yang doesn’t know why, but he feels a bit of heat rise on his cheeks at the attention. He should be used to Schonkopf’s unintentionally flirtatious behaviour by now, knowing that it came to the other man as easily as breathing, basically second nature and nothing of real substance.

“It’s too much effort,” he says, breaking their eye contact for a moment on the pretense of looking down at the neat little rows of ribbons and medals that adorn his chest. “Can you imagine how much our dry cleaning would cost if our day to day uniforms were this colour?”

Schonkopf hums what might be an agreement but just continues to look at him, posture loosening from parade rest into some more relaxed, one hand underneath his chin, elbow braced against his other arm that’s flat across his chest.

Yang blinks at him, briefly wondering if there’s something on his face or worrying that maybe he did end up spilling his wine across his jacket earlier at the gala. He looks down again, just to check for stains, fingers picking at the edges of his jacket, twisting the material.

A large hand covers his, pulling his fingers away. Yang looks up and Schonkopf is now standing a little too close, smiling down at him fondly, eyes warm.

“If you continue doing that, you’ll wrinkle your uniform,” he says even as his fingers curl casually around Yang’s own instead of letting go.

They stand like that for a moment and Yang can’t help but swallow, nervous for some reason he can’t quite explain, biting at his lower lip. Schonkopf’s gaze dips a little further down, lingering, expression unusually serious and intent.

“ _That would be a pity since you look absolutely breathtaking_.”

Yang stills. Schonkopf’s last sentence is murmured quietly, perhaps just to himself, and the words are not spoken in Alliance Standard but rather in Imperial.

“I beg your pardon, Captain?” Yang asks, blurting out the first thing he can think of as he pulls his hand out of Schonkopf’s grasp and glances up at him warily.

Schonkopf doesn’t seem bothered at all, his normal devil-may-care smile plastered firmly back on his face.

“Sorry,” he says and he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic as he lifts a shoulder in a shrug and crosses his arms across his chest, allowing Yang to move away without protest. “I was just worried about your poor jacket, Admiral. What did it ever do to deserve such torture?”

Yang sits back down behind his desk, an ineffective barrier for someone like Schonkopf, but puts them at enough of a physical distance that he can breathe a little easier. His heart is still beating a little unsteadily though and there are the remnants of a flush across his cheeks that is yet to dissipate.

“Did you need me for something?” Yang asks instead, once he’s settled back into his chair.

He decides to disregard whatever just happened a few minutes before as a hallucination resulting from too little tea and even less sleep. Schonkopf doesn’t seem to be acting like he said anything untoward at all and Yang takes that as confirmation of his theory.

Schonkopf shakes his head. “Nothing important. I only docked at Iserlohn myself a few hours ago and heard that you had also returned.” He smiles wryly then. “Poplin and Attenborough insisted I missed a great party and an even better speech from your Excellency.”

It still doesn’t explain why he is here instead of out in the bars with the rest of the fleet, but Yang decides to let it go. He understands the quiet urge to check in to make sure everyone is okay after a period off the fortress.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Schonkopf,” he says instead, eyes warm. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the briefing.”

Schonkopf salutes then, a looser, less formal one this time and takes Yang’s words as the dismissal they are, striding towards the door. He pauses for a split second there though, long enough for the door to register his presence and slide open slowly.

“Welcome back, Yang,” he says quietly before he leaves and the door shuts behind him.

*

It happens a few more times after that, but only when they’re alone and it’s always an offhand comment that Schonkopf gives, before he changes the topic or continues on with whatever they’re originally talking about, acting like nothing ever happened. Still, it never ceases to catch Yang off guard, startling him each and every time, but he doesn’t know how to react except to pretend he hears nothing.

There’s that time in Yang’s office when they are talking about something inconsequential and Yang happens to look up and catch a strange expression on Schonkopf’s face. Schonkopf turns away when he notices Yang looking.

“ _Sometimes_ ,” he murmurs quietly then, the Imperial words falling into the breath of silence between them when he thinks that Yang is frowning down at his paperwork, “ _I can see the entire galaxy in your eyes and it takes my breath away_.”

Or that time when they stand together outside, as Yang accompanies Schonkopf on a brief patrol so that the other man can point out the improvements to security and defense, walking side by side beneath the warm afternoon sun.

“ _Your smile brightens my day more than the sun, my dear Admiral_ ,” he says in Imperial on that occasion, his soft tone directed towards the screen of datapad he’s holding. He doesn’t even look up from where he’s tapping his pen rhythmically against the side.

Or that memorable time once after an officer’s meeting, when Schonkopf deliberately lingers until everyone else is gone before he brushes past Yang’s chair on his way out.

“ _You’re the sole reason I fight this war_ ,” he says softly, once again in Imperial before he leaves as well without even a second glance at Yang.

After that last time, Yang stops thinking that he’s actually mishearing things.

He sits in the officer’s lounge a few nights later, alone at a table, trying to puzzle out what Schonkopf is actually up to.

Schonkopf does not seem aware that Yang can understand Imperial, nor does he expect a reply, so all of this obviously isn’t to get a rise out of him. He never speaks in Imperial when they aren’t alone, which also negates the theory that he is teasing Yang in front of his team. Besides, Yang does not think that Schonkopf is the type of person to do something like this for personal amusement.

He’s deep in thought and distracted enough that he only notices someone approaching when they settle into the chair directly opposite his own.

“A penny for your thoughts, your Excellency?” Schonkopf asks, placing another drink in front of him, nudging Yang’s mostly empty glass to the middle of the table.

Yang wraps his fingers around the new drink without hesitation and stares down at the golden surface of the small snifter of brandy. The smell wafts into the air, rich and pure, and he holds it up to his lips, taking a moment to just inhale before he downs it in one swallow. It burns smooth and sweet down his throat and he can’t help but cough a little, eyes watering.

There’s another glass in his hand a moment later, Schonkopf plucking the empty brandy glass from his fingers and replacing it with water instead.

“Drink that,” he says, half-concerned, half-amused.

Yang does, gulping the water down.

“What’s troubling you, Admiral? Work woes? Or has Julian finally started on his rebellious teenage phase?” Schonkopf asks, leaning forward in his chair, propping his chin in his hands. His eyes are crinkled with amusement and it’s almost as if he’s teasing Yang, with that tiny curve of a smile on his lips.

Yang traces the rim of the water glass with a finger absently and sliding his eyes away, unable to meet Schonkopf’s gaze for too long. Instead, he stares down, gaze fixed on the table and decides impulsively to bite the bullet. If he can’t work out what Schonkopf is after, then he might as well just ask.

“Nothing like that. It’s more -” he pauses a little, trying to think of the best word for it. “Personal.”

“Oh?” There’s a mountain of meaning behind that one word and Yang doesn’t quite have the guts to look up to try and read Schonkopf's expression in that moment.

“Let’s say that there’s someone I know, and we’ve always been good friends,” Yang says words falling quickly enough that they’re almost a jumble, rushing to get the words out before his courage fails him. “But recently, something’s changed and I feel like that they’re treating me a little different from usual.”

He does his best to phrase this entire thing as a rhetorical question, an intellectual curiosity, just in case he’s reading it wrong. When the silence ticks on for a few seconds too long, Yang finally chances a glance up. Schonkopf is still in the same position before, but the easy amusement is gone, replaced by something unreadable.

“I see,” he says, and sits upright languidly, stretching lightly before he leans back fully against his chair. The slow deliberate movements remind Yang of a big cat, all lazy grace, and hidden claws.

Schonkopf watches Yang, completely still, for a moment or two, his expression serious and contemplative. “How do you feel about them?” he asks eventually when he realises Yang’s not going to say anything else without further prompting.

Yang fiddles with his almost empty cup, fingers tapping at the glass, still unable to meet Schonkopf’s eyes for any lengthy period, gaze sliding from Schonkopf to the dimly lit crowd behind him and then back to the mostly empty cups scattered on the table.

He hesitates. “I’m not sure,” he says softly and it’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. Even now, just sitting opposite Schonkopf, with their knees brushing occasionally beneath the small table and his full, undivided attention, Yang’s face feels warm and his heart beats faster, in a speedy little rhythm that echoes in his ears faintly.

If Schonkopf’s disappointed by this answer, he doesn’t show it. “You’ll work it out, you always do,” he says, the latter half of the sentence is almost a sigh as he stands, pushing himself up with his hands braced against the table.

Yang tilts his head and he looks up at Schonkopf. “You’re going?”

Schonkopf picks up his black leather jacket from where it had been thrown casually across the back of his chair and slings it behind his shoulder with a smirk, his other hand running through his hair. Yang would have to be blind not to notice all the admiring glances that most of the women and even some of the men throw towards him, and he has to force his expression into neutrality instead of letting it twist into a frown like he wants.

“We can’t all be slacking off from work all day and night,” Schonkopf teases, dropping a wink that’s accompanied by a sloppy salute. “Goodnight, Yang.”

He pauses by the table though, just before he goes, and then switches to Imperial, the words so soft that Yang barely hears them over the murmur of steady conversation around them.

“ _I wish you sweet dreams of me, my Admiral_.”

Yang stares after him, eyes wide even as Schonkopf walks away, quickly disappearing from view. He scrubs his face with a hand, more confused and flustered than ever.

*

It’s a few days before Yang sees Schonkopf again.

He’s running a bit late for his mission report briefing with Frederica, rushing into his office with his cravat tucked into a pocket and his shirt still not fully buttoned to the top. He’s at least managed to do up his outer jacket, so none of the other officers in this area would have noticed much out of place when he speed-walked past them.

Julian is off on his first training mission and Yang, who had gotten used to being shaken awake over the past few months, had unfortunately slept well through his morning alarm.

“I’m terribly sorry, Lieutenant,” he says as he finally gets to his office.

Frederica looks like she’s been waiting for a while, the tea that she had presumably brought him that is sitting on his desk, is no longer steaming. Her expression is serene though, and unbothered, when she turns to face him, which eases Yang's worry a little.

She salutes, smile bright. “No, it’s fine. Good morning, Admiral.”

Yang slides into his chair and waves Frederica towards the other one in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat. We should make a start.”

He pulls out his cravat and attempts to tie it at least twice without much success as Frederica begins her outline. The task is much harder than he anticipated without a mirror directly in front of him.

“If I may?” Frederica obviously has had enough of his fumbling and tugs the silky, long material out of his grasp. She leans down, popping open his jacket as well, and standing his collar up so that she can fold the cravat down correctly.

Yang’s gazing bemusedly down at her blonde hair when there’s a cursory knock on the door and someone walks in. He glances over to see Schonkopf standing at the doorway and suddenly he feels slightly nervous. This was the first time he’s had an opportunity to see the other man face to face since the bar.

“Captain,” he greets, doing his best to sound normal and not succeeding very well, his voice a little higher and more stilted than usual.

Frederica had stopped her movements when Schonkopf’s knock had sounded, her fingers pausing on the top button of his shirt. She still does remain standing quite close to Yang, however, head turned to look at Schonkopf. Schonkopf’s own brow furrows a little, taking in the scene at large, but his salute is textbook perfect.

“Admiral. Lieutenant,” he replies, half a beat slower than usual and there’s something strange about the tone in his voice.

He’s carrying some papers in the crook of his left arm that he picks up with his right hand and lifts into the air for a moment. “I was going to ask for your signature on this," he says, still staring at Yang with slightly narrowed eyes. "But I see that I’ve come at a bad time.”

Schonkopf gives them both another long, unreadable look and then nods politely. Yang feels like he's missing something important right here, but he can't for the life of him tell what it is.

“I’ll leave you two to it then.” Schonkopf's words are neutral but there’s still that slightly strange undertone to them that are starting to drive Yang a little mad. “Good day, Admiral, Lieutenant.”

Schonkopf is gone before Yang can even get another word out, the door shutting behind him and hiding the rapid retreat of his footsteps. There’s a pause before Frederica turns back and finishes fixing Yang’s cravat and stepping away, but not before she smooths down the lapels of his jacket with her small hands, touch impersonal.

She’s frowning a little when she turns away, looking in the direction of where Schonkopf had left just moments before.

“I think,” she says after a moment of silent contemplation. “Captain Schonkopf may have the wrong idea about us.”

“What do you mean?” Yang asks, managing to tear his eyes away from the doorway finally, still quite bewildered. He glances at her and then away, sinking back into his chair feeling oddly like he had actually just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Frederica tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and picks up the folder she had put aside before to help Yang. “I believe he’s under the impression that you and I are romantically involved,” she says a little bluntly as she locates the correct page at where they had paused.

Yang, who had picked up his abandoned teacup and had just started to sip from his now cold tea, processes Frederica’s words and then promptly inhales his next mouthful. He coughs, choking on his tea with watering eyes and basically slams his cup back onto the table in a hurry before he can drop it.

Frederica also moves quickly, handing him a paper towel almost immediately and moving his cup away from the table edge in case he knocks it over again just like last week.

“Thank you,” Yang mutters half-heartedly, taking the napkin and swiping it half-heartedly across his jacket and pants, wrinkling his nose a little at the stain on the lighter material below.

Frederica cleans up his desk efficiently, moving aside files and books to mop up the tea before she picks up her file once more.

They go through what they need to, more slowly than usual perhaps, but it’s not entirely Yang’s fault that he can’t fully concentrate on the task at hand while he keeps thinking about Schonkopf and his apparent misconceptions about that entire scene from before.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that it could’ve been interpreted that way, but obviously -

If only he had time to explain himself, Yang thinks ruefully for a moment before reminding himself sternly that he didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, not even Schonkopf. It’s not there was anything between them or anything.

“I think we should stop here today, Admiral,” Frederica says eventually, sometime later, when she’s asked him the same question about three times without a proper response.

Yang blinks and sits up straight from where he had been staring down at the table, chin braced against his palm, feeling guilty and apologetic. “Sorry, Lieutenant. We can continue on.”

She smiles then, a somewhat teasing curve to her lips. “I don’t think there’s much point when you clearly have so much on your mind,” she says and starts to gather her papers, capping her pen and sliding it into her pocket.

When Yang just blinks at her uncomprehendingly, she tilts her head at him, tucking her neatly ordered folder beneath her arm.

“I think you have somewhere else to be and someone to see perhaps,” Frederica clarifies, slanting a look at the door meaningfully.

Yang can’t help the tiniest flush of colour that ends up dusting across his cheeks, looking away as he finally understands what Frederica is implying.

“It’s not what you - I mean. It’s just a misunderstanding, right? Captain Schonkopf isn’t someone who’ll jump to conclusions like that,” Yang tells her and he sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than her. Frederica seems to think the same, because she starts laughing lightly, the soft sound tinkling in the afternoon air.

“Besides, I shouldn’t have to explain anything,” he says, raising his voice just a little bit louder and doing his solid best to pretend his Lieutenant isn’t watching him with a fond but exasperated look.

He repeats out loud exactly what he had been thinking before. “It’s not like we have that sort of relationship or anything.”

Frederica nods placatingly, bringing the folder up to her chest and crossing her arms across it, right hand holding the file, left hand curled around the opposite elbow.

“Of course, Admiral. How remiss of me,” she says to him, droll, as she takes his long empty cup and exits after a brief salute.

Yang waits until the door closes before he sighs and slumps into his chair once more. It's just past lunchtime, he notices, squinting at the time on his console. He's not overly hungry so he opts to skip the meal, instead turning to eye the growing pile of files and papers on his desk.

Caselnes, when he had brought in the entire stack yesterday, had told him in no uncertain terms that everything needed to be read and marked and signed before the end of the week.

He stares balefully at the pile and sighs again, louder this time since there's no one to hear him anymore. He swipes his beret from his hair and throws it down to the right, uncapping a pen and flicking open the first folder in determination. 

Maybe this will help take his mind off things for a while.

*

The sun is barely setting when Yang puts away the last folder on the very top of the precariously balanced stack. He rises to his feet and stretches, wincing at the pull of forgotten muscles that have long since fallen asleep, specifically around his calves and neck.

He stands at the window for a moment, watching the burning red of the sunset as it slowly sinks beneath the horizon, lost in thought. It's only when the lights in his office automatically flicker on that he finally capitulates, leaning down and reaching for one of the mostly full bottles he keeps stashed in a cupboard beneath his desk.

He doesn’t even bother with a cup, just uncorking the loose seal and drinking directly from the bottle. Yang knows his limits though and drinks slowly, but steadily as the sun sets, doing his level best to think about nothing.

He’s just getting to the stage where he’s pleasantly buzzed when he raises the bottle again just to find it empty. He considers, seriously, about uncorking another and making some headway into that, but he ends up valiantly resisting the temptation and packs up instead, tucking the empty bottle beneath his arm to throw out on the way, just in case someone like Caselnes drops by tomorrow before the cleaning staff comes through.

Yang manages to make it to his quarters fine, only staggering into a wall twice, and he’s just trying to remember where the keycard to his rooms are when there’s a warm, familiar presence behind him and a hand slides into his coat pocket.

Yang turns his head and looks up. Schonkopf is standing just behind him, the hand holding a folder is braced against the wall above his head, the other withdraws a black and white card from the front of Yang’s jacket.

“Good evening, Admiral,” Schonkopf says, looking and sounding as if whatever had happened earlier never actually occurred, pressing the card against the reader. There is absolutely no hint of the half-unreadable, disappointed look that he had worn before as he steps back, standing a respectable meter away, his free hand offering Yang back his keycard.

Yang stands still for the biometrics reader to identify him before he takes his card back with a nod of thanks. The door slides open before him in a quiet whoosh of cool air and he sighs lightly, looking at the open door and then back at Schonkopf, gaze dropping down to the folder he still holds.

“Did you need me for something, Captain?” he asks, pleased to note that his words are still perfectly legible, beckoning him to follow as he walks through, flicking the lights to half brightness to spare his own eyes.

Schonkopf follows him obediently into the kitchen.

“I have some requisitions that need to be made as soon as possible,” he says, maybe even a tad apologetic as he puts the folder down before Yang.

He heads towards the cupboards, rifling through them with familiarity when Yang makes a non-committal sound, already three paragraphs into the first report from the pile. Schonkopf pulls out a mug from one of the overhead cabinets and fills it up with cool water from the tap.

He places this down next to Yang’s elbow. “You should drink some water,” he says, nodding at the glass, crossing his arms to stand to the left and front of where Yang sits, careful to keep out of the way of the light that spills over the files. “Otherwise, tomorrow morning won’t be pleasant.”

Yang takes the glass and downs half of it, even as he pulls out a pen and starts signing off on the bottom of the forms within the folder, too sleepy now to bother reading through the entire lot of identical looking requests and provisions from the Rosen Ritter.

He ends up signing the last few with his eyes almost closed, the alcohol finally kicking in with a vengeance and leaving him feeling exhausted and empty.

If not for Schonkopf, Yang would've probably collapsed on the kitchen table. Schonkopf, obviously noting Yang's flagging energy, helps him up easily, slinging one of Yang’s arms across his shoulder and guides him in the direction of his bedroom.

“Come on, Admiral,” he says, a soft tone of laughter threading through his voice as he maneuvers Yang's basically dead weight across the living area and down the hall without any complaint.

“I had to talk to you about something,” Yang mutters as he’s placed onto his bed. He kicks off his boots and shucks his jacket on autopilot, ducking under the covers once he’s done.

Schonkopf sits down on the edge of his bed and when Yang manages to squint at him through sleep-heavy eyelids, he looks kind of amused. “I’m sure it can wait, Yang,” he says softly and pulls up Yang’s blankets a little more, making sure they covered him from head to toe and tucks the soft material beneath Yang's chin.

Yang agrees internally that it can probably wait, making a final mental note to himself to talk to Schonkopf tomorrow because he knows that he’s likely to fall asleep at just about any moment now.

“Tomorrow,” Yang murmurs and finally closes his eyes.

He dreams that night, of Schonkopf’s warmth around him.

There’s a hand that strokes across his hair softly and the barest press of dry lips against his forehead as Yang lies cocooned in warmth, not sure if he's teetering on the edge between awakeness and sleep or if everything is truly just a dream.

Yang thinks he hears Schonkopf say something, voice low and he curls towards the warmth on instinct, wanting to reach out but unable to when his body feels too heavy to move.

In the next moment, the weight beside him is gone and he dreams of footsteps that walk away and a deep, soft voice that murmurs: “ _Goodnight, my Admiral._ ”

*

Yang wakes with the vague memory of Schonkopf’s warmth next to him. Half is merely a dream, like the kiss and the gentle touch, but as he blinks awake slowly, he can't tell if the other half is an actual memory or also something that his wishful-thinking mind dreamt up. He sits up, scrubbing at his face, doing his best to ignore the rapid beat of his heart.

Yang goes about his daily routine, distracted as snippets of the previous night keep ambushing him as he brushes his teeth, showers and then makes his way out to his kitchen. He reheats something from a container that Julian had left him and decides that today is the day he’ll find Schonkopf and they’ll have a talk and clear whatever this is between them out, no matter what.

Resolution set, he straightens his uniform and strides towards his target destination.

However, Schonkopf is not in his quarters, nor is he at the Rosen Ritter training base, which is also suspiciously empty for a Saturday.

Lintz is there though, as Schonkopf’s second, and he frowns slightly when Yang questions him as to Schonkopf’s whereabouts.

“I think,” he says after a moment, standing at parade rest with his hands behind his back, looking vaguely bemused by this entire situation, “you may need to speak with Admiral Caselnes.”

Yang narrows his eyes in a rare show of petulance before he sighs and trudges back towards HQ. He makes a beeline directly to Caselnes and pushes open the closed door without even a perfunctory knock.

Caselnes’ table is overrun with papers and the man himself looks a little harried when he glances up at the unannounced intrusion.

“Oh good,” he says, throwing his pen down on the folder open at the top. “You can help me by signing this very important and urgent pile of essential paperwork.”

Yang ignores his words, glancing around the room, half expecting Schonkopf to be lurking in a corner somewhere. “Where is he?”

Caselnes blinks, obviously not expecting Yang’s abruptness. “Who?”

“Schonkopf.”

Caselnes pushes himself upright slowly, the hand not bracing his weight against the table comes up to push his glasses back a little onto the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know?” he asks, eyebrows rising.

Yang runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even further, jerking his beret from his head and dropping it onto the table, across whatever paperwork that Caselnes had been reading.

“Would I be here interrupting your very important work if I knew?” Yang knows that there’s a sulky tone to his voice but right now, he doesn’t really care.

Caselnes straightens fully and whatever he sees in Yang’s face makes him frown, the crease between his eyes crinkling in concern.

“He’s off-planet right now,” he tells Yang, straight and direct.

“What do you mean by ‘he’s off-planet’?” Yang asks, leaning into Caselnes’ space, palms across the pale, wooden desk. “Is it for a mission? I don’t recall him being assigned to anything.”

Caselnes glances up at him pityingly before he shuffles around a few of the neat, but tall paper piles on his desk and withdraws a folder which he passes to Yang.

“On orders signed off by you as well,” he adds.

Yang flips through the folder until he gets to the aforementioned page, staring at what is definitely his signature. He tilts his head a little to the side and suddenly remembers the small sheaf of documents that Schonkopf had handed him last night to sign. He recalled that they were all routine patrols and procurement requests for the Rosen Ritter, except -

He sighs as he realises that Schonkopf must’ve snuck this in amongst the pile, betting on the fact that it was late enough and Yang would trust enough to not read each and every document page by page.

Caselnes sits forward in his chair and tilts his head. He steepled his fingers in front, elbows on his desk and leans his chin against it.

There's a contemplative and slightly evaluating expression on Caselnes’ face as he watches Yang. “So, what are you going to do, Yang?”

Yang knows that this is out of character for him, but there's something that’s been burrowing into his chest, a foreign feeling that he's been unable, or rather, unwilling to identify this entire time, leaving him distracted and self-conscious around Schonkopf only.

Now that Schonkopf is gone, Yang feels anxious and off balance, as if he's missing something important. It's that, more than anything, which tells him all he needs to know. He's never been a fan of self-deception, not even when it came to his tremulous feelings towards his captain.

Yang snaps the folder shut and hands it back to Caselnes, having noted the estimated date of mission conclusion, a week from now.

“Get an answer,” he says determinedly.

*

A week later, Yang sits with his legs crossed on the sofa, doing his best not to feel like he’s planning an elaborate ambush.

It’s past midnight when Schonkopf returns, the door to his quarters sliding open silently. Yang stares at him, not able to make out much at all, with Schonkopf backlit by the dim hallway lights. He seems uninjured at least, which lifts some of the weight from Yang’s heart, not limping or moving unnaturally at all.

He’s also alone, Yang’s even more relieved to see, having only thought about the possibility that Schonkopf would return with a bed partner for the night. Yang had banked on him being serious about whatever was happening between them though and so he hadn’t actually prepared for that eventuality.

Despite how exhausted he must be, there’s absolutely nothing lethargic about Schonkopf’s instincts. He stops barely a step inside and looks straight in the direction of where Yang is sitting, even though the entire room is completely dark and without any sort of illumination.

“To what do I owe this late night visit?” he drawls and it’s a warning, something a little dangerous in the lilt of his tone. It’s clear that although he knows there’s someone in the room, he doesn’t know who. Yang’s never heard this particular tone directed towards him, ever, and the coldness in each word throws him a little.

Yang still pushes himself up to stand though, dusting off his uniform pants and adjusting his beret. He is here for a reason after all.

“I thought we might have a chat about your unauthorised off-planet trip,” he says, tone pleasant, taking enough steps forward that the light from the hallway falls across his face.

Schonkopf freezes, obviously having recognised Yang by both sight and sound and also definitely not have expected him, of all people, to be waiting in his room for his return. He recovers quickly though, switching on the main light, dimmed to the lowest setting and steps fully inside the room. The door closes behind him automatically with a muted hiss.

“Admiral,” Schonkopf says, saluting formally. He stares at Yang for one long moment, sweeping his gaze up and down intently once as if making sure he was okay and still in one piece before he fixes his gaze on Yang’s face.

He had obviously come straight from HQ and his first debrief, likely with Caselnes. He was in his customary uniform, a clean set that he had probably changed into on the shuttle back down to Iserlohn. If Yang hadn't been waiting here, he has a feeling that he would’ve probably only seen Schonkopf at the morning officer's meeting tomorrow and even more likely, wouldn’t have had a chance to clear the air between them.

They stare at each other for a little while, the atmosphere between them growing a little stilted. Yang’s nerves are on the edge, tapping the fingers of one hand against his trouser leg, unable to keep still. Schonkopf seems content to just watch him, standing at parade rest easily, gaze steady.

“ _I missed you, my Admiral_ ,” Schonkopf says eventually, the Imperial words dropping softly into the silence that echoes in the room. The smile that curves his lips and crinkles his eyes then is so gentle and sad and Yang’s had enough.

“ _Then you shouldn’t have left_ ,” Yang replies in the same language, the words falling from his lips smooth and unaccented and it has the intended effect - Schonkopf stops completely for the second time in mere minutes.

“You speak -” he starts after a long moment, voice hoarse and then shakes his head, putting a hand over his face, muffling his next words a bit. “Who am I kidding, of course you do.”

Yang crosses his arms, voice firm, switching back to Standard without missing a beat. “Well, Captain. I think I’m entitled to an explanation.”

There’s one moment when Yang thinks that Schonkopf is going to brush it off with a half-truth at best, or an outright lie at worst. But maybe because it's late, or maybe because it's just Yang here, alone, but that moment passes and the other man’s shoulders slump a little, as if admitting defeat.

“I’m in love with you,” Schonkopf says after what seems like an eternity, voice steady and gaze fixed on Yang’s own. He says it so easily, his tone casual as you please as if he’s just mentioning nothing more than the weather, and not sending Yang’s heart into overdrive with one simple sentence.

Schonkopf does swallow though, and that sharp bob of his throat, plus the visible tremble in his hands which he covers by clenching his fingers into a tight fist are the only signs of how much this confession actually costs him.

He takes a deep breath and pushes a hand through his hair, glancing away for a moment. “I wanted some time away from Iserlohn and you because I know that out of everyone in this whole damned galaxy, you’re the only one who’s so far out of reach that I can’t even dream -”

Yang stops him with a hand across his mouth before he can say anything else and steps in, letting his hand drop and his head fall forwards, his dark hair resting against one of Schonkopf’s broad shoulders.

“You’re an idiot,” Yang says, voice muffled where his face is now pressed against Schonkopf’s uniform jacket. “If you could’ve just said something -”

Schonkopf laughs then, low and a little disbelievingly, his arms coming up to encircle Yang gently but firmly as if afraid Yang would change his mind and move away.

“But I said plenty, my dear Admiral,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss against his hair and this time the words are in pure Standard.

He hesitates, pulling back a little to look into Yang’s eyes. “Lieutenant Greenhill -?” he asks.

“A respected and trusted subordinate and a good friend,” Yang tells him firmly, laying those fears to rest. Frederica had been right after all, her sharp observation skills identifying Schonkopf’s misunderstanding of the situation from the get-go.

“I’m glad,” Schonkopf says, voice dropping low.

His hands are warm even through the layers of Yang’s uniform and he pulls him close until there’s no space between them at all. He slides one arm down to loop around Yang’s waist and raises the other to cup Yang’s cheek gently, fingers brushing briefly across soft skin.

Yang leans into the touch, his own hand rising to cover Schonkopf’s own. “And I’m glad you came back safely,” he says honestly.

“I promise I’ll always come back to you,” Schonkopf replies, leaning down, murmuring the words just a millimeter away from Yang’s lips, and it’s not just an empty platitude but rather an oath of fealty. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Yang looks up at him, eyes wide at the confession, one hand braced against the other man’s shoulder, standing chest to chest with him and feeling the steady rise and fall with each breath. Yang feels his own breathing drop into sync even as he tilts his chin upwards a fraction and closes the minuscule distance between them.

The kiss, when it comes, is nothing more than a gentle, almost sweet press of lips for one heartbeat before it deepens, both of Schonkopf’s hands coming up to cup his face, calluses rough against his cheeks. As cliche as it sounds, Yang doesn’t know how long it lasts - it’s as if time stops for that one moment.

When they finally break the kiss for much-needed air, Schonkopf keeps him close with one hand on his hip, running the back of his other gently across the side of Yang’s face, stroking across the heated skin, flushed pink from the kiss. His hazel eyes look almost gold beneath the dim lights, and his smile is a soft quirk of his lips, the expression warm and soft and so very gentle.

“Then in that case,” Yang says after a moment, taking the opportunity to stand up on tiptoes to press another kiss against Schonkopf’s cheek, just a brief brush of his lips, a silent promise of his own. “Welcome home, my Captain.”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> ps. i'm taking prompts for short ficlets [here on my tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/post/175776182117) \- just send me a pairing and the starting sentence if you're so inclined :) 
> 
> i mainline reuenthal/yang, but i also am le fond of most of the imperial admirals & 13th fleet, so basically anything goes <3


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